An Excursion
by Laine Montgomery
Summary: While suffering through another sleepless night, Brutus encounters a distressed Octavia.  BrutusOctavia oneshot.


(Disclaimer: I own nothing involving _Rome. _This story follows the canon of the HBO/BBC series and therefore takes some historical liberties. No Porcia here, folks. Enjoy!)

Shadows painted the stony walls of the courtyard, rising and flickering at the will of the torchlight. Their patterns were familiar to Brutus now, for he'd had ample opportunity to acquaint himself with them. A solid week's worth of nights spent here, eyes cast eastward, anxiously awaiting the coming of the dawn.

He wondered if he would ever sleep again.

His mind, vindictive as it was, refused to let him rest, denied him any relief…he felt his stomach tighten and swallowed hard to stifle the bile that rose in his throat. He could at least keep the vomiting at bay now. He was becoming accustomed to this sickening shame.

He found himself floundering, idle, with nothing to occupy his time but his own torturous thoughts. Once, he would have found solace in his mother's arms, comfort in her soothing voice, courage in her faith. But no more.

Servilia's eyes, once so lively and affectionate, were cold to him now. Punishing. He found himself lurking about her chambers, hoping for a chance to speak with her, to apologize, to explain himself, but she denied him even that. She spent her days sequestered, accompanied only by her maidservants and Octavia of the Julii, with whom she had developed a baffling and intense friendship. _Perhaps she's found herself a replacement child, since her natural offspring has proven so disappointing. _He scowled at the thought and dropped his weary head into his hands. _So __**very **__disappointing._

A soft smattering of footsteps abruptly tore his attention from his own dour thoughts. He immediately rose to standing, muscles tense and eyes alert as he listened to the footfalls growing closer and closer…

Finally, a wispy figure rounded the corner, sidling along the most distant wall of the courtyard. Remaining flat against his own wall, Brutus squinted into the darkness in an effort to discern the intruder's identity.

She was female, young and fair. Ringlets of dark gold gleamed from beneath the patterned shawl draped over her head. She tugged at the fabric anxiously, and Brutus caught a glimpse of high cheekbones and cobalt eyes. He allowed his posture to relax slightly as he called out softly,

"Octavia?"

"Oh!" The girl whirled about to face him, and Brutus was startled to notice the tear marks staining her flushed face, apparent even in the dim torchlight. She took several small steps toward him, clearly attempting to identify him, and Brutus obligingly stepped farther into the light.

"Well met, Brutus," she spoke uneasily, her voice hoarse and poorly supported. He watched with concern as she drew her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed anxiously…_why so upset?_

"Octavia." He took her trembling hand into his and inclined his head politely. The perspiration from her palm dampened his own, and he felt his brows knit with confusion. "Wh-what are you doing?" _Surely she's been visiting Mother…but why leave in the middle of the night? And unaccompanied? Suspicious._

"I have to go home." Her tone was unexpectedly adamant, and Brutus balked a little at the sudden flash of fierce determination within her misty eyes. His perplexed frown grew heavier as he replied:

"Surely you can wait until morning? My mother will be glad to send you with an escort…you shouldn't walk the streets alone, especially at this hour…"

"I have to go." She made no effort to conceal the contempt in her voice, nor did she allow the hard resolve in her facial expression to dissipate at all. Brutus found himself suddenly wary of this Octavia, for he saw so little of the coddled, pampered patrician girl-child in this strong-willed, angry creature. Yet he would not, could not permit her to jeopardize her safety in this way…

"Well, if you insist…at least allow me to accompany you." Octavia blinked several times, and Brutus was astonished to observe a wry smile creeping across her lips. She emitted a strange, breathy sound that seemed akin to a laugh before speaking again.

"You? Marcus Junius Brutus, wandering the streets of Rome without protection? No…no, I cannot allow you to do that. You're in more danger than I, I should think." The cold smile faded from her face, replaced by a gravity that could pass for concern.

"Hardly." He watched Octavia's face flicker with surprise at the sudden bitterness of his tone. "I've been pardoned, you see." He turned his face downward, echoing the dry pseudo-laugh that Octavia had used previously. He felt her eyes on him and looked up to meet them, only to encounter a painfully familiar expression…one that he'd seen so often from Servilia over the past several days…he couldn't bear the coldness anymore…

"Yes, I know." Brutus winced at the icy syllables, his eyes wandering here, there, everywhere, trying and failing to escape Octavia's stony judgment. He felt a sudden and terrifying desire to strike her, to knock her unconscious and wipe that _look_ from her face…his cheeks flushed red with shame. _What kind of a barbarian have I become?_

"Will you permit me to see you home?" Words sheepish, almost apologetic. He glanced up at Octavia and saw her incline her head in a curt nod.

"As you like." She turned on her heel and strode toward the entrance of the courtyard, pausing to wait for Brutus. Once beside her, he unlatched the gate and offered her his arm, which she reluctantly accepted. A nod to the night guards, and they were en route to the house of Atia.

The silence between them was palpable, and Brutus felt his skin crawl with discomfort. He couldn't bear the quiet anymore…had to say _something…_

"How does your family fare?"

A pause, and then her answer: "Very well, as you might imagine. My mother's positively glowing…a victory for Caesar is really a victory for Atia, after all." Again the bitterness; what had happened to little Octavia to merit this new cynicism?

"Yes…that does sound about right." Watching her through his peripheral vision, Brutus thought that he saw a smile ghost across her face…but perhaps it was merely a trick of the light. "I…I am glad that the friendship between our families remains…your visits to my mother are much appreciated."

Octavia's breath quickened, and Brutus was troubled to detect a reemergence of her tears. He halted his steps, turning to face the girl at his side. "Octavia…are you well?"

"Fine…I'm fine…" She pulled frantically at the shawl upon her head, unsuccessfully striving to conceal her face. Without thinking, Brutus placed a hand upon hers, removing her thin fingers from the fabric. She did not resist him, allowing him to lower her hand from her face and return it to her side. Her voice came again in a tremulous whisper, "Things are just so…I don't know about anything anymore…I'm just tired, is all…"

And he nodded, squeezing her hand compassionately. "I know. Believe me, I know exactly what you mean."

Her eyes raked across his face for what seemed like an eternity. Uncomfortable with this level of scrutiny, Brutus leaned against a nearby wall, trying desperately to avoid those penetrating blue eyes.

"She loves you, you know."

Brutus flinched, tilting his head to the side and meeting Octavia's eyes at last. Still shining with tears, those damned eyes adopted an earnestness that perfectly matched her speech. He wanted to interrupt, to stop her from saying more…but he remained silent.

"She speaks of you often, of how she worries for you…she wept when she heard about Pompey's defeat, when she thought you missing…she has your best interests at heart, really she does." One moment's pause…two…three… "Must be nice, having a mother like that."

A wave of understanding struck Brutus like an epiphany, and he saw Octavia, saw the obligatory pawn to Atia's will, saw the sacrificial lamb used for her mother's purposes, whether she would or no…saw the daughter, desperate for validation, longing to fulfill her family's absurd expectations.

And if Marcus Junius Brutus understood anything, he understood expectations.

He reached for Octavia, once again taking her hand in his, drawing her closer. They both stood silently for a time, watching each other, breathing the scent of their mutual plight.

Communion.

He spoke again in measured tones, loathe to damage the stillness. "I thank you, Octavia, for all you've done for my mother. In my absence, I often worried that she would grow lonely…but you have been an inexpressible comfort to her…thank you for that, Octavia…"

Her face darkened with an expression that he could not fathom, and for a moment he feared that he had offended. The tears continued their steady stream down her cheeks, causing her countenance to glow unnaturally in the torchlight. And he couldn't help himself…he touched a finger to her dampened skin, wiping away the moisture. She moved closer…her fingertips rested on his arms, traveling upward…

And then her mouth was on his, hard and urgent, her tears trickling past their lips, stinging his tongue…he attempted to recoil, but she reached upward, twining her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. She tugged his locks viciously as she drew his lower lip into her mouth…he heard a cry escape him, some heady combination of pain and pleasure that he had no wish to analyze. Not now, at least.

Suddenly, his hands were on her, moving over her hair, her shoulders, her back…a pivot of the heel, and he had her pinioned against the stone wall. Her frantic kisses assaulted his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone…his fingertips trailed downward, tracing the curves of her breasts, waist and hips. She captured his lips again, and this time he returned in kind, wordlessly delighting as she sighed into his mouth. She had somehow made her way up the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips flush against his. Her lower body bucked against him…his hands gripped the bare skin of her calves, wandering up past her thighs…

But then he stopped. Looking down at her delicate face, wet with perspiration and tears, he knew that he would go no farther. He was no Antony, content to fuck servant girls against walls, on tables, on filthy stone floors. Nor was he Caesar, able to carry on illicit affairs with high-born women, ruining their reputations without remorse. No, he was nothing like those men. He, Brutus of the Junii, was merely a slave to his honor. His damnable, troublesome, ruinous honor.

"Octavia." He lowered her down, hands supporting her waist as she found her footing once more. She watched him questioningly, and he responded with several slow shakes of the head. "I can't…I just can't."

Indignation flashed across her visage, and Brutus thought for a moment that she would strike him. _And I would deserve it, too. _But the flash of pique faded quickly, and her golden head soon bobbed up and down in a series of nods. He felt a sudden constriction in his throat as she wound her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. His fingers whispered across the crown of her head, and then his arms were closed around her. He pressed her to his body as tightly as he could manage, and he wondered vaguely whether he was stifling her. He heard her breathing relax, began to sync his own breaths with hers…

She tore herself roughly from his embrace, ducking under his arm and taking several backward steps. Her face flushed a brilliant crimson, and he restrained the urge to touch her again, to reclaim her.

"Good night, Brutus." Her body and voice shaking, she averted her eyes from him and spun about sharply, darting towards the entrance to her mother's home with remarkable speed. Brutus watched her lithe little form vanish into the shadows before turning about slowly and proceeding down the narrow street. Glancing to the east, he saw the first rays of morning sunlight trickle down the sides of the buildings.

Another sleepless night.


End file.
